


Bad Things Happen Bingo: Anger Born of Worry

by taylor_tut



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hurt Klaus Hargreeves, Protective Luther Hargreeves, Sickfic, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 11:33:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19375888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: The final prompt for Bad Things Happen Bingo from my tumblr: Klaus stumbles into the house injured late at night and Luther freaks out a little.





	Bad Things Happen Bingo: Anger Born of Worry

Klaus leaned heavily on the doorframe of the Academy after ringing the doorbell, listening to the long, loud chime that he hadn’t heard in years. They’d never had visitors as children, so the doorbell was rarely used even in his childhood, but now that they were grown and trying to stop the apocalypse, he was pretty sure that the door wasn’t even locked. The only reason he’d rang it in the first place was because he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to be able to make it up to his room without a little help, and everyone was asleep at this late hour. 

Luther opened the door looking decidedly unhappy with Klaus’ decision to make such a racket. Klaus slid in before Luther could decide to slam the door in his face. 

“Klaus, do you know what time it is?” Luther demanded, the irritation in his voice not wavering as he watched Klaus take several unbalanced, staggering steps into the living room before collapsing onto the couch. 

“I dunno,” Klaus slurred, “late?” He guessed it was probably late. He wasn’t sure. Things had gotten pretty fuzzy after Cha-Cha had shot him. He probably should be dead, he figured. If he hadn’t laid on the floor motionless like Ben had told him to, she probably would have finished the job. As it stood, however, he’d managed to just barely escape with his life and hobble his way back to the Academy with a bullet in his chest. 

“Yeah, it’s late,” Luther condescended. Klaus had pressure on the wound, but he was quickly losing the ability to keep it steady. He closed his eyes because he was tired and they felt heavy, and he must’ve blacked out for a minute, because when he next opened them, Luther was standing over him imposingly. 

“You mad at me?” he couldn’t help but ask, and though he was too weak from blood loss to see Ben, he could practically hear him rolling his eyes and yelling for him to come to his senses and tell Luther what was wrong. 

“What are you even doing here?” Luther dodged. “You haven’t slept at the Academy in months.” Klaus’ consciousness flickered once more, stealing away any justification he might have given, so Luther continued. “If you’re looking to steal opioids from the infirmary, Dad locked them all up. You’re never gonna get into it.”

Klaus shook his head. “Sober,” he said through gritted teeth. Luther scoffed. 

“Right,” he said sarcastically, “because sober people come home looking half-dead at 3 in the morning.”

Klaus was so distracted by Luther’s use of the word “home” that he completely missed the part about being half-dead, which he’d usually make some kind of Seance-related quip about. That seemed to grab Luther’s attention, drawing him in closer. 

“Shit, Klaus, is that blood?” he demanded. Klaus moved the hand that was covering the wound and nodded. Of all days to wear a shirt, he had to choose a black one today. It had hidden the blood well enough that until his hand was no longer blocking the hole, Luther hadn’t even seen it. 

“Shot,” Klaus managed. Luther stiffened. 

“Seriously? And you didn’t bother to say anything?” He was already scooping Klaus up in his enormous arms, pressing tightly, painfully, on the wound to keep it from spilling more blood from his already-near-empty body, and Klaus flinched. “Don’t be a baby,” Luther scolded. “I’m doing what I have to. Jesus, Christ; are you the biggest idiot in the world? What the hell is wrong with you?“ 

Klaus knew Luther well enough to know that he was stressed rather than mad, but it still didn’t make it any easier to hear the scolding. They had been estranged for so long that it was difficult to separate the worry and irritation from genuine animosity, but the bright side was that he was feeling a bit too hazy to care. He let himself deift off a bit once more in Luther’s arms, confident that he’d handle things from here even as Luther kept yelling at him not to fall asleep. Just as he’d predicted, he woke up several hours later in the infirmary, Luther asleep sitting up in the chair next to him, with his wound stitched and no pain meds stronger than ibuprofen in his blood. 


End file.
